I always thought I wanted to be a painter. The colors and the physicality and the mess of it all. In Art History, I loved studying the painters best of all. But, if I was a painter, I think it would break my heart to sell my work, like handing off one of my children or trading on a precious memory. I’m glad my medium is reproducible. Still, I’ll take any excuse to hold a paint brush…
102/365: red paintbrush
If you’re in the mood, check out the poem, “Why I Am Not A Painter” my second-favorite poem by Frank O’Hara. It has nothing to do with why I am not a painter, but it’s a good poem. My favorite Frank O’Hara poem is “Having a Coke With You“. It’s really good.
avant garden 365 